Larking with Lockhart
by Jiang Qing
Summary: A series of one shots concerning that old 'charmer', Gilderoy Lockhart. NO SLASH... yet. Rated T for 'subtle' sexual references. Please R&R! Do not be confused if character comes back to life after dying in the previous chapter... Lockhart can do that.
1. Sexy Werewolves and BIG mistakes

Harry let Lockhart's voice wash over him, occasionally saying, "Mmmm" and "Right" and "Yeah". Now and then he caught a phrase like 'Fame's fickle friend, Harry" or "Celebrity is as celebrity does, remember that".

The candles burned lower and lower, making the light dance over the many moving faces of Lockhart watching him. Lockhart's continuous, unrelenting drone had turned into a light babble as the evening wore on, and Harry felt he was finally able to completely ignore him. His aching hand screamed as he addressed yet another envelope; he looked at the clock again to see that it was only quarter to twelve. Not late- yet to Harry it felt as if he had been up since the crack of dawn.

"Ah! Maggie Windstone!" Harry's heart sank and Lockhart seized yet another envelope, and handed it to him. "Fabulous girl, very good at _cooking_ I recall. Yes, she wrote to me before to invite me to a special home-made dinner. Well, I usually don't allow myself to visit fans- if I visited one, I'd have to visit them all, and that Harry, would take _years_. But Miss Windstone… she sent a photograph and I couldn't help but notice that she looked very _soulful- _as if my books had truly touched her heart. Who am I to disappoint? There is no rule against celebrity/fan intimacy, and she looked as if she was of the right breeding stock, so I took myself to her little cottage- very quaint, Harry, very quaint- and she and I sat down to enjoy the best shepherd's pie I've ever eaten. Windstone, Harry, not Winestand."

"Right." Slowly, painfully, he erased his error and wrote the name again. Lockhart continued with his story, hardly pausing even for a breath.

"I asked her if she made it herself, or had taken it from a cookery book. Of course, she had made it herself, and my admiration for her grew even more as it got later in the day. Soon, the moon began to rise, we were full of rich food, and she grabbed me and told me it was time. Well Harry, and you should know this, having a few fans yourself, one thing led to another and-"

At the time when it would have been most convenient to have fallen asleep, Harry's ears seemed to wake up. Stunned, he gave the professor a wide eyed glance, with a panic he couldn't quite explain. Lockhart was chatting away, more to himself to his student, oblivious to the fact that Harry suddenly had the overwhelming desire to faint.

"So I _pinned_ her down, Harry, and she moaned like a woman has never moaned before…"

Harry dropped his quill, which clattered to the floor. Face burning, he picked it up, hands shaking with mortification and discomfort. Please make him shut up someone, he thought miserably. Please make me not have to listen to any more of this…

"And she thrashed around, and it was all I could do to keep myself on top of her! It wasn't long- me being so professional- until she reached her climax."

"Uh… yeah." Help me. Somebody help me now. Harry had given up trying to write, and instead had his eyes fixed to the door. How much trouble would he get into if he blasted it open? At least another detention, he supposed. Haha. Detention with Snape suddenly never looked so good.

"So," Lockhart's voice rose to match his excitement, his body even rising a little off his chair. "I drew it out, long and hard. I waited for the right time and then when she screamed again I _penetrated_ her!"

"_What?" _Harry's eyes tore themselves from the door, and stared at Lockhart in horror, his hand jerking out and knocking over a bottle of ink. The violet liquid spilled across the desk and splashed to the floor, thankfully missing the addressed envelopes; a wave landed into Harry's lap and soaked into his robes.

"I know!" Lockhart cried, seeming not to have noticed Harry's 'accident'. "I thought I'd killed her, it was so big!"

"Stop!" Harry considered vaulting over his chair and making a break for freedom. Lockhart was obviously mad, or had _seriously_ misjudged his character. Harry was only a boy! A twelve year old boy! Pre-teen! Innocent! Didn't this count as abuse? Or did all 'friends' of Lockhart usually huddle around steaming cups of tea in the staff room, talking about defilation?

Lockhart was on a roll, his face was pink with enthusiasm, his voice so energized that Harry was sure that someone like Snape or McGonagall would be able to hear him. "No Harry, I won't stop! It will happen to you! I _know_ it will!"

"I'm too young!"

"You're never too young!" Lockhart leapt to his feet, voice at least twelve decibels higher than usual. "Fans turn into werewolves all the time!"

Harry was about to, in sheer desperation, curse Lockhart into oblivion (he doubted that Lockhart could truly defend himself) when his hand stopped midway to his pocket. "Sorry?" He could _swear_ that he was missing something. Something perhaps _slightly_ vital in the conversation that he may have overheard.

"Yes! Maggie Windstone, my self-confessed biggest fan, was a werewolf! And she began to change halfway through our treacle pudding! It was lucky that I managed to overpower her and stab her with my twelve inch silver knife before she transformed completely! So nice to send a letter from St Mungos to say she's making a full recovery."

"Huhhuhhuh…Yes." Harry's breathing began to return to normal, after the unpleasant sensation of pre-hyperventilation. "Very nice." He glanced at the door again, and again wondered desperately how he could get out without facing another punishment. It seemed like he had got the wrong end of the stick, and he was so embarrassed that he wanted to return to Gryffindor common room and never emerge again. Who cared about Defence Against the Dark Arts? As far as Harry was concerned, he'd rather face a fully re-empowered Voldemort than ever be locked in a room with Lockhart again. The clock struck one.

"Right Harry, I have five more letters to address left in this bag, and then let's call it a day, shall we? Great Scott, look at the time! Isn't it late? You know, you shouldn't expect a treat like this every time you have a detention."

"I know, sir." Harry, although his voice was toneless, suddenly felt like singing. Five more envelopes. He could cope with that. Teeth gritted with concentration, and hand shaking with the effort to hold it together, Harry grabbed another envelope and freshened the ink on his quill. Five more envelopes, five more envelopes…

"My, Harry, you look tense," Lockhart's disgusting, cheery voice again filled his office. "Tired? Or desperate to talk to Ron to say what a great detention you've had? If I were you Harry, I wouldn't rub it in his face too much. Some people are destined to be nobodies. I haven't got a problem with that. Some of my friends, I bet you've never even heard of! This _school_ is run by nobodies! I mean, well Dumbledore _may_ have some passing reference at some time or another, but whose heard of him _really?_ But us, Harry, the chosen people, we've got to stick together."

He put his hand down on top of Harry's.

Harry's throat went dry, though he made no effort to pull away. This time, no thoughts of escape pushed themselves desperately forward. His mind had gone completely, and utterly blank. All he could feel was the warm palm of the most irritating wizard in the world resting on top of his aching fist. A friendly gesture, surely. Perhaps Lockhart was one of those adults that 'tried to get to know the _real_ you'. Perhaps this was a secret symbol of the 'Secret and Obnoxious Fame Academy', and Lockhart was trying to persuade Harry to join. Perhaps Lockhart was just being _nice._ None of those reasons prevented the fact that Harry wanted to hit him.

"You're a good student, Harry". For the first time, Lockhart's voice had a lowered tone, and sounded slightly deeper than usual. "I could help you on the way to greatness, being so brilliant myself." The man of supreme modesty began to stroke Harry's skin, which prickled at the soft, circular movements. Harry temporarily lost his vision, and all he could see was white teeth and faint a golden shimmer.

He felt really, really sick.

"Professor…" His voice tailed off as Lockhart drew even closer, his aqua robes intermingling with Harry's black. The circular movements had stopped, though the hand remained. Harry didn't even have the strength left to remove it.

"Harry, Harry, _Harry,_" Lockhart smiled even wider, his teeth unusually white thanks to his self-made 'Whitey Bitey Glamorous Grin' toothpaste- 'toothpaste with results that look like magic!' His face came nearer to the poor boy, charm pouring like an on turned tap, and stupid blue eyes intense. "I want you, Harry…"

Harry couldn't even reach for his wand, as both hands were now trapped in Lockhart's. Lockhart was going to… he was going to…

"Yes, I want you Harry… to sign this!" Lockhart let go of Harry and pulled a piece of parchment from his desk. "Your autograph could come in really handy for the future! Might even make a few sickles!" He thrust the parchment towards Harry, eyes round and hopeful.

So shocked and disorientated he could hardly lift the quill, Harry numbly signed it.

"Thanks!" The glittering smile returned, more exotic than ever. "Have a signed photo- I have loads." Lockhart thrust a glossy black and white photograph into Harry's face, then yawned loudly, and perhaps not entirely truthfully. "Dear me, aren't I tired! Bed time I think, eh Harry?"

"Yeah." In a dream state, Harry scraped back his chair, which slipped on the spilt ink and fell over. Not even bothering to pick it up, Harry began to leave, only to hear Lockhart's dulcet tones once more.

"And Harry- don't worry about those five envelopes! I'll do them, it's fine. Good night… and sweet dreams!"

Dazed, Harry walked out of the door and into a dark corridor.

He really needed his sleep.


	2. Piranha Fish and Charming Smiles

**Hey everyone! If you're reading this, please give a review as they make my day ever so much more cheerful! Plus I got 11 hits and only one had the time and energy to review. **_**So**_** YesIEatQuiche here you are… your own chapter dedication! I also repeat the offer of a platter of rainbow cookies with sugar and E-numbers. Enjoy! **

Lockhart preened at himself in the mirror, his glittering grin stretched across his features. Ignoring the mirror's loud, and rather poignant yawn, he reached over and grabbed a peacock blue plastic tub from his desk. Not taking his eyes from his reflection, his hand ripped open the lid, and dived into the tubs sticky contents. White goo spilled through his fingers, which he hastily applied to his hair. Too quickly. The white substance left a greasy streak down his golden mane, rendering Lockhart to have more than a slight resemblance to Snape on a bad day.

"Great Scott! We'll have to fix that!" Suppressing the urge to give a manic shriek of horror, Lockhart plunged his head into a nearby barrel. Unfortunately, due to the fact that he was hated far and wide, Lockhart's emergency hair cleansing supply had been filled with small, but bitey, piranha fish.

"OOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWW! BLOW!" With the sudden realisation that his face was going to be devoured, Lockhart attempted to pull his head free- sadly to no avail. Recently, as his book _Magical Me_ had been elevated even further up on the _Witch Weekly _best-selling list (now number _0-_a first in Wizard Novel history) Lockhart's ego had swelled to such a proportion, it had begun to take toll on his physical being. His head, before the arrival of such fabulous "news", had been a slight 25.5 inches in circumference. However, his boasts of how amazing he was at the breakfast table had finally hit home. Incensed, Professor Snape listened to Lockhart's theory on how he was possibly the 'greatest man in Hogwarts' history to teach Defence Against The Dark Arts, and how when Dumbledore finally left, it may be a good idea if he himself was suggested for the top job', then (unbeknown to the fool) took out his wand, concealed it under the table pointed at Lockhart without attracting his notice, and cursed him. It was destined. Every five boasts that uttered from Lockhart's mouth would increase his head size by half an inch. He was, to put it mildly, pretty fucked.

Screaming, for the piranha fish regularly had their teeth sharpened by no less than Fred and George themselves, Lockhart began to panic. What if his head never pulled free from this confounded barrel? His complexion would be _ruined._ Damn it! He had worked so hard for that peaches 'n' cream effect! As he felt his eyelashes being gnawed, and shrink by approximately 10 centimetres, Lockhart finally lost it. He reduced himself to the lowest of the low, the scum of society, the decimator of all progressive education. Basically, Lockhart did something that he never had done before- apart from the time he had accidentally fallen into the lake with the giant squid whilst he was wearing his new robes made of the finest octopus skin. He swore.

"OH! Get off my eyelashes you fiends! You, you… BASTARDS! Do you KNOW how long these took to glue?... I mean, grow? ARRRGGGGHHHHH!" As a particularly nasty fish deigned itself to the unpleasant task of nibbling Lockhart's upper lip, and Lockhart shamefully gave a rather unmanly squeal, Snape entered his office.

"Lockhart, I have for you a…" Seeing Lockhart dancing around pathetically with a barrel on his head, Snape immediately summed up the situation and gave a smirk. "No matter, it can wait. I can see you're… occupied."

"Snape!" Lockhart whizzed around, the weight of the barrel causing him to fall on his knees. "Could you… could you assist me from this?"

Snape gave another of his twisted grins, and backed from the room. "I can't hear you professor. I may just… have to leave you for a couple of hours until the problems go away."

"The fish are eating my head!"

"Precisely." Snape turned with a swoop of his cloak. "Until the problems go away."

***

A few hours later, and after much struggling, Lockhart had managed to remove his head from the barrel. In that time, he had missed four out of his six classes, all of which Snape had taken over and succeeded in convincing all students that Lockhart was dead. Right now, in the Hogwarts grounds, a large and rather raucous celebration was taking place, including the rich food and drink consisting mainly of cheese and wine. In a moment of excitement, Seamus Finnegan had made, partly through hard graft and partly through magic, a straw figure with more than a slight likeness to his least favourite (forgetting Snape- if he made an effigy of the famously short tempered potions master, he wouldn't see the next day with the same sense of the world) teacher. Conjuring a mighty fire, yelling and screaming students tossed 'Lockhart' into the flames. The straw effigy began to scream- it was able to do this because sadly, the straw had more brain cells than the man himself.

"Lockhart's DEAD!"

"YAY!" Several students fell to their knees and wept with a passionate relief and happiness. Snape just watched the fire burning, a slimy smile etched on his face. Lockhart wouldn't burn. But he would be nibbled to death instead. Like… like a rabbit nibbling a carrot. Like… Filch nibbling Madame Pince's ear. Snape's fascination was similes was getting out of control. He wondered if being such a loved one in society did it to him. He wondered if it was because drinking illegal potions on the sly was finally having it's effect. He never considered the possibility that he was just weird. Someone should tell him that the first stage is _admitting_ it.

Lockhart, meanwhile was oblivious to the celebrations going on outside. Holding his head in his hands, he crawled to his mirror, and took a deep breath, psyching himself up for his inevitable change of appearance. Terrified, he opened his fingers and had a quick peek. Too fast- he hadn't caught sight of anything. Fingers splayed, he opened his eyes and looked at himself full force to the reflective glass.

His hands dropped to his sides in utter shock.

Lockhart's face was covered in tiny little fish bites, giving him the rather attractive appearance of one suffering of leprosy. His hair- the golden curls that previously had cascaded down past his shoulders, had been eaten to such a degree that it was now a number two haircut. His eyes, a lovely sparkling blue, were… still a lovely sparkling blue. But y'know. They _could _have changed.

"I… I look _horrendous,"_ Lockhart gaped at himself, morbid fascination making him stare on, although he was now beginning to retch violently. "It's the end of my career! The end of my fame!"

"Your damn right there," The mirror, seeming to have just woken up put in his two pence worth. Lockhart's money box gave a loud clink. "Nobody will ever look at your ugly mug again and say 'that's cute'."

Lockhart's perfectly manicured hand flew up to his throat. "No!" He gasped, as if in terrible pain- which he probably was, as piranha fish had just feasted upon his visage.

"_Yes,"_ the mirror was enjoying itself. "You're through, Lockhart. Finished. Done."

"It can't be!"

"I know, I know. People will hate you everywhere you go. You'll have to hide from other wizards. Witches that only liked you for your looks will burn your house to the ground."

"_The mirror is talking!" _

If it could have done, the mirror would have blinked. There was a very short pause. "… No shit."

"_It's a miracle!" _ Dropping to his knees, Lockhart stared at the mirror with a new love in his eyes. "And I thought it was old Flitwick hiding in my office all this time…"

"_Ah_, Professor Lockhart, I see you have managed to…" A sudden, familiar voice thankfully interrupted Lockhart's little epiphany before it spiralled out of control. "…escape unharmed."

Gilderoy dragged himself away from his mirror, and saw Snape standing in the doorway, his hands twisting around a white envelope. His lip was curling at Lockhart's appearance with an obvious sneer, though obviously put out that the piranhas had failed to do the Full Monty and cause Lockhart's unnecessary but ultimately satisfying and bloody death. Smirking, he gestured towards Lockhart's head. "You've got a slight…"

Lockhart's hand flew to his skull which was littered with holes from the murderous fish. Slightly nonplussed, he pushed his fingers into one of the gaps and wriggled them about. "Ah. Could you check them out for me please, Professor Snape?"

Snape grabbed Lockhart's head with more force than strictly necessary. "Let's have a look…" Careful to cause Lockhart as much physical pain as possible, the Potions Master stuck his fingers into every single hole, breaking more pieces of skull off in the process. Ignoring Lockhart's girly wails, he poked and prodded until he was finally satisfied, thus letting Lockhart go and wiping his hands on his cloak, like the Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher's ridiculous-ness was catching.

"I have to tell you something." Snape's malicious grin threatened to take over your face. "The piranhas have eaten your brain."

Lockhart's scream broke every window in the castle, and therefore terminated all celebration outside.

"I heard a scream."

"Me too. Lockhart y'think?"

"Does that mean we'll have to go back to class?"

"Yep."

"Aw, _what?"_

Gazing at Snape in utter horror, Lockhart's screams soon turned to tears. "Am… am I going to die?" For a moment all the reddish pink bites on his face went white. He was Gilderoy Lockhart! He couldn't _afford_ to die! Who would sign his photos?

Snape, on the other hand, was rather enjoying himself. Torturing Lockhart never lost it's appeal, and should be made into an international sport immediately. Today would become an annual holiday for Severus Snape- the day that he would torture Lockhart to the point of madness- or even better- violent suicide. A large, delicious beam (sorry, fangirl moment) spread like wildfire across his chops. "I don't know. Perhaps."

Lockhart was so traumatized he stopped crying. "I… I AM going to die?"

"I said perhaps."

"That means YES."

"That means _perhaps_ imbecile, get a dictionary."

"Then help me!" Lockhart (suffering from a serious lack of judgement) grabbed a fistful of Snape's usual black robes, his blue eyes glittering manically. Snape gave him 'the look' but Lockhart was too panicked, and frankly too dim to care. He had no brain. HE HAD NO BRAIN!

"Well," Snape stared at Lockhart thoughtfully, his sallow skin appearing more pale compared to the other professor's perfectly even (spray on) tan. "You could do one thing…"

"WHAT! TELL ME!"

"Kill Dumbledore."

A pin could of dropped in that room, and depending on the size, would have made an echoing clang. Lockhart's face went from stupid to confused, to terrified, to all three, then back to stupid again. He gave a large, if rather shaky smile. "You're.. you're _joking_ right?"

Snape suddenly caught a severe case of twitchy eye. "Yes. I was… joking." Dammit! This was no fun! So far Lockhart hadn't committed murder, grievous bodily harm, suicide, or even criminal damage. It was time to drop the big bombshell.

"I have a letter for you." Snape casually tossed the envelope he was holding towards the blond haired, empty headed nitwit- who surprisingly managed to catch it.

"What is it?"

"Something form _Witch Weekly."_

"OOOOOOooooooooh!" Bearing in mind he had no brain (merely because he never had one to begin with) Lockhart gave a huge chuckle of pleasure. "It must be to inform me that I've won their Most Charming Smile Award for the sixth time in a row…" Without much further ado, he ripped open the letter and delved into it's contents. Snape just stood there, smirking slightly. Sure enough, the letter soon dropped from Lockhart's sticky grasp with a sickened cry (Lockhart, not the letter.) "I haven't won! It… It can't be!!"

"It can, obviously."

"I mean," Gilderoy began to pace the room, grabbing what little of his hair was left. "Who has a more charming smile in the whole of the wizarding world than ME?"

"Someone you know…" Snape gave a delicate little cough, "quite well."

"Kingsley Shacklebolt! I knew it! Prize stealing, money grabbing, tooth whitening little-"

"No."

"Then that Ludo Bagman. Never met the chap, but he's up and coming isn't he? I'll teach him to steal my prize!"

"You won't need to teach _him_ anything. Firstly because he didn't win. Secondly, you're incapable."

"Then… then…" Lockhart looked desperately around his office, as if expecting the winner to jump out behind his desk and wave enthusiastically. "Then… Lucius Malfoy?"

Snape decided to stop him there, before he had to twat him one. Besides, he was getting bored. "No Professor, your guesses are incorrect. The winner of the Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award is… ME!"

"YOU????" Lockhart's surprise had him clutching his desk to give him support. Snape's victorious, ever so charming smile grew wider.

"Me."

"But… _but you're not even handsome!"_

Snape admired himself in Lockhart's mirror, running his fingers through his curtain of black hair. "Some people seem to think so."

This tipped Lockhart over the edge, and the happy little world in which he was living was totally and utterly ANNIHILATED. With a cry of 'NOOOOOOO!" he jumped out of _the closed window four floors up_ and plummeted down to the grounds below. Glass sprayed everywhere, littering the floor, peppering into the walls. With the air of one waiting for such action to happen, Snape whipped out a piece of parchment from his pocket.

"Criminal damage. Check." With his quill he performed an enormous tick, and hurried downstairs to see what Lockhart did next.

For the sake of the story, Lockhart had not died from jumping out of the window, but had landed cat like on his feet in the middle of a big crowd of students.

"It's Lockhart!"

"Why the f*** isn't he dead?"

Hearing his name, Lockhart whiled around. "Yes! Tis I Gilderoy Lockhart, five times winner of the _Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award!"_ He ran up to one of the students- in this case it was poor old Dean Thomas- and started shaking him. "Do you use tooth whitener? DO YOU?"

"S-s-s-s-sometimes."

"BASTARD!" Without further ado, Lockhart snapped Dean's arms, then his legs, and for good measure punched him in the mouth. Several teeth splintered and feel to the floor. "GOT NO TEETH TO BRUSH NOW, HAVE YA???"

Whilst all this commotion was unfolding, Snape in the background merely smirked and ticked off 'grievous bodily harm'. Only murder and suicide to go now.

"Get off my best friend!" Seamus, effigy burner extraordinaire, grabbed Lockhart and pulled him off Dean. Lockhart faced Seamus and upper cutted him in the chin. Anger feeding his strength, Seamus' neck promptly broke. Like a bat out of hell Lockhart rushed back into Hogwart's castle and ran up eight flights of stairs to the entrance of Dumbledore's office.

"Password?" The Gargoyle looked at Lockhart's sweaty face warily, deciding whether to let him in even if he got the password correct.

"DENTIST'S PROFESSIONAL TOOTH BLEACH!"

The Gargoyle blinked. "That's incorrect. Sorry."

With an animalistic cry Lockhart pointed his wand at the statue. "Reducto!" The statue exploded into a cloud of vile dust, cursing horribly as it did so. Running up the stairs to Dumbledore's office, Lockhart reached the top and flung open the door. "DUMBLEDORE! JUDGEMENT DAY HAS COME!"

Dumbledore stared at Lockhart his clear blue eyes not even looking panicked. "Ah, Gilderoy. And why do I have the pleasure of your company?"

"I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!"

Dumbledore again did not look panicked, but gave an understanding nod. "I see. Can we talk about this?"

"NO!"

"All right; so be it then, Gilderoy."

Using his new found super strength, proving that not winning something can truly be damaging to one's character, Lockhart picked up Dumbledore with the ease of somebody picking up a dormouse, and spun him around his head. Letting him go, Dumbledore smashed into a wall, and all the little silver instruments landed crashed down onto him. Conjuring an axe, Gilderoy Lockhart- Mr Pacifist- chopped Dumbledore up into lots of little pieces and ATE THEM. Blood running down his chin, he leapt out of another window to carry in with the carnage. Snape, watching from the doorway ticked off murder, and added cannibalism as a category he had carelessly missed off.

Lockhart was getting exhausted. Half heartedly he killed Professor McGonagall, Flitwick, Harry Potter, his mate Ron Weasley, Voldemort (who was taking a stroll in Hogwart's gardens) and Filch's cat. As the bodies began to pile up, Lockhart found himself contemplating the meaning of life. Was there any? If Snape could win the Most Charming Smile Award was there anything left for _him_ in this world?

No.

With an insane cry, Lockhart pushed a stick of dynamite he'd coincidentally found on the floor into one of the holes in his head, which promptly blew to smithereens. Snape finally ticked off 'suicide' then slithered up to Lockhart's headless body.

"Sorry about that old chap, seemed to have got the letters mixed up. It looks like you won after all. Congrats." Throwing a gold edged certificate onto Lockhart's dead chest and smiling his usual hideous grin, Snape returned to his dungeons.

It had been a very productive day.


	3. Crystal Balls Are Cracking Up

Lockhart whistled shrilly as he tidied up the classroom. Ah, another perfect end to a perfect lesson… Harry had made an _excellent_, if slightly reluctant werewolf. For a split second, the tenacious, glittering grin practised by so many good looking- yet moronic- specimens around the galaxy, faded slightly from Lockhart's face. Harry _always_ seemed very, very reluctant to perform up front in his classes, and Lockhart couldn't decide whether this was because he was scared of embarrassing himself in front of his classmates, or whether because… no, that was unthinkable.

There couldn't be the _remotest_ chance that Harry Potter, almost-as-famous-as-he Harry Potter, _didn't like him. _

Don't be absurd.

Fixing in his mind as determinedly as he could manage that Harry's unwillingness in lessons was because the poor boy suffered from an acute case of peer pressure, Lockhart, thinking that he was fully alone, stopped his mindless whistling and began to sing.

"_I'm too sexy for my shirt, too sexy for my shirt, so sexy it huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurts," _At the word 'hurts' he performed an animalistic pelvic thrust, which attempted and failed to display that he was a man with sexual needs, sexual desires and was so sexually in demand that men and women alike were gagging to get a taste of the 'bad boy'. Although this, in terms of being physically attractive to others, could be thought of as true, the rest sadly was not. Lockhart, nor his 'attachments' could ever be mistaken for being a 'bad boy', indeed he lacked the tattoos, the muscles and the masculinity. To witches across the world, Gilderoy Lockhart was a heroic man that had saved several peoples butts on more than several occasions, and best of all, this was a hero that wasn't afraid to get in touch with his feminine side. The long golden hair, the delicate features, the clear blue eyes… all these seemed to drive women into frenzies of lust as much as a dark hair, dark eyes, dark skin and the name Ronaldo. I'm not of course saying that witches are in the closet lesbians. I'm merely saying that femininity in a man can be attractive as well as despicable. Whatever. The fact remains that Lockhart, despite being attractive was also heavily deluded. Hmmm… like I needed to tell _you_ that.

"_I'm too sexy for my robes, too sexy for my robes, so sexy it…" _All at once, Lockhart's mind drew a blank. What the hell rhymed with _robes? _It did light upon him in his panic, that as nobody was watching he could simply move onto another verse of the song, of which rhyming lyrics were more readily available. But… then again surely as nobody was watching, it didn't matter if he paused for a bit in order to search him memory bank for something that DID rhyme with robes. Nobody would know. It wasn't like he was singing up on stage… yet.

Sitting down on his desk and grabbing a piece of parchment, Lockhart drew out his quill and thought, which took more effort than most give credit for. Poetry had never been his best subject… suddenly he felt bad for the ridiculous piece of homework he had given the class…_robes._ What rhymes with _robes? _Robes. R-o-b-e-s. Unfortunately, Lockhart was one of those people that are determined to believe that the slower you say something, or the more emphasis you put on certain words, the easier the subject is to understand. This, of course, is not true. But everyone has their follies. I myself enjoy the sport of badger kicking, believing that it will cure one of chicken pox. My friend kicked a badger, and the next day his spots had gone. Yes really. Fascinating, isn't it?

Robes.

At last, inspiration struck. "Ye Gads, why ever did I not think of it before? _Earlobes! _Fantastic!" Pushing back his chair with enough force to drive it against the wall and cause quite a serious dent in the plaster, Lockhart leapt to his feet.

"_I'm too sexy for my robes, too sexy for my robes, so sexy it… tingles my earlobes!" _Now he had sang it out loud, it didn't sound half as 'fantastic'. Lockhart frowned and sang it again, louder and with more expression and hip wiggling, closing his eyes. No, it just didn't work. Thank God no one could see or hear…

A loud, derisive chuckle, followed by a sharp shhh! noise interrupted Lockhart's fairly peaceful frame of mind. Glowing pink, the professor tried to hide his radiating embarrassment by smiling his old smile, having as much success as Voldemort would have in a rehab centre. Focusing his hazy eyes on the three students before him, he realised with the sinking of heart, that the three students were in fact Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger.

"Oh you three," said Lockhart in a would be sprightly, but not quite managing tone. You know, the one reserved usually by those who pride themselves on not having lost their temper for the last fifty years, then coming home and seeing their house burnt down by some careless village children, so they force a smile on their face and say 'it doesn't matter! It really doesn't matter!' right before they grab one of the children in question by the throat, asphyxiate them within an inch of their life, realise with the horrible effect of someone squeezing a sponge soaked in coldwater down their neck that they have indeed _lost their temper_ and proceed to end the entire fiasco by having an apoplectic fit which drags them immediately down into the depths of hell.

Oh yes, _that_ tone.

"Hello Professor!" The Granger girl stammered, holding out a bit of parchment. "I just wanted to- get this book out of the library…" Lockhart let her rattle on, trying to gain his composure, but it seemed to have fled to an unknown place and was not prepared to come back until sometime the next day. He was so mortified, he didn't even look at the book they wanted, but signed the thing hurriedly with his peacock quill muttering the first thing that came into his head… something about the Quidditch match the next day. As the three hurried out of the room, he caught light of their conversation.

"_I don't believe it. He didn't even _look_ at the book we wanted."_

"_That's because he's a brainless git. But who cares, we got what we needed."_

"_He's not a brainless git!"_

"_Just because he said you were the best student in the year…" _

Surely he hadn't heard that correctly? Brainless git? _Him? _If it wasn't for last night, and his resulting good mood, then he would have a word with that Ron Weasley. Knock a bit of _sense_ into that dim brain of his. In all his embarrassment, Gilderoy's pride was still intact and was unlikely ever to be vanquished. To be called a _brainless git_ by someone with a hair colour that looked like his head had been stuck in a bucket of carrot jam was just plain _insulting_, and for a moment Lockhart felt quite nauseous. Despite the urge to be sick however, and preferably on Ron's head, or in his dinner say, the good mood from last night was still somewhat hanging in the air. He would refrain from vomiting on Mr Weasley today. However, the slightest _whiff_ of any provocation… well, he didn't fancy the chances of Weasley's bacon much.

Last night, as it transpired, had been different to the other cold, lonely nights at Hogwart's castle. Outside the school, Lockhart had a very _busy_ social life; sex symbol to the stars, or at least the stairs. If women fancied him like mad, and indeed many did, of course he wasn't going to remain celibate. Ridiculous. There were plenty beautiful women out there, all gagging for a taste of the Gilderoy himself. Who was he to refuse? Gilderoy Lockhart had full intention of filling his basket. At Hogwarts however, beautiful women, or indeed women who were not frightfully underage seemed to be slightly lacking. That, and of course the fact that more and more of the witches in the school were warming further and further towards Mr Weasley's point of view. McGonagall, over fifty and one that Lockhart had hoped to be able to charm the pants off (older women, in his book were pleasantly experienced) had looked at him yesterday when he entered the staff room with such contempt, that even he couldn't mistake that for a glance of passionate longing. He had flirted briefly with Professor Grubbly-Plank, and she had indeed coyly returned the favour, but when she had lifted her arms to display a casual stretch, he noticed that her underarms were distinctly furry. No way. Never. Well, at least not until she had discovered a razor.

Students, of course, were out of the question. Not that some of the older ones of seventeen and over weren't _interesting_ but rather because he had a funny feeling that Dumbledore would find out. Lockhart was terrified of the Headmaster, a terror that by most people was usually reserved for formidable Professor Snape. However, despite Snape successfully managing to murder him in the previous chapter, Lockhart personally found the potions master electrifying. Knowing that this could not be a good thing, he pushed all such thoughts out of his mind.

Stupid obsession really. Snape was a _man._

(Despite the effeminate appearance, Lockhart was blissfully unaware that such thing as homosexuality existed (Or thought is was a dying out religion). Some may call this sad, but as the saying goes, ignorance is bliss. Lockhart just being Lockhart is bad enough. Active Homosexual Lockhart would be enough to cause Voldemort to take all his horcruxes and destroy them. Splitting the soul is fair enough. Splitting the soul when the world is inhabited by morons that can't decide what half of the pie they want is enough to make a self respecting villain abandon their plans and join the navy. Unfair example, but I thought you should know.)

So, the be all and end all was that for the next year at least, any chance of any action was very slim. Lockhart, under the impression that it would be easy to forgo any sexual conduct was sadly mistaken. By the end of the first two weeks the mere thought of a night alone was enough to bring him out in a cold sweat. By the end of the first month, his pillow had been washed so many times that the seams had come apart and had littered stuffing all over the bed. Feeling more than a trifle ashamed of himself, Lockhart threw it out and purchased another. So far it had stayed clean, but as the saying goes, it's only a matter of time. Last night had started off the same as usual. Knowing that it was to be another cold, dull night, Lockhart had pulled on his pyjamas (despite being the male equivalent to a slut, Lockhart could never bring himself to sleep naked) and slipped between the sheets. He had just managed to kiss several photos of himself good night, when suddenly his bedroom door flung open and in the doorway there stood a woman of approximately fifty, shatteringly slim and with very large glasses.

For a moment they both merely stared at each other, until Lockhart decided it might be a good time to speak.

"Good evening,"

The woman said nothing, but her mouth opened slightly as if she wished to reply but someone had robbed her of words.

"Ah… " Lockhart spoke again, albeit a little frightened. "Gilderoy Lockhart." He paused uncomfortably. "And you are…?"

The woman took a great shuddering breath, and finally she spoke, her voice pitched on just below a wail, her face animated, her hand gestures wild and shaky as if she had indulged on too much caffeine.

"I wouldn't expect you to know me, my dear. Sybil Trelawney prefers to withdraw herself from school life, and focus on the future. I have seen much… so _much_ in my crystal ball, and I barely have the energy to pull myself away from it. However, when I looked in early this evening, I saw a sight which shocked my greatly. It concerned you Gilderoy, and I felt the overwhelming desire to leave my ball and find you tonight."

Forget being frightened, Gilderoy was terrified. It was startlingly obvious that this woman was out of her tree.

"W…w….what do you want?"

"I have a prediction for you, Gilderoy." The woman stepped further into the room, her eyes glittering manically behind her glasses. Lockhart wished he knew where she had concealed the knife.

"W…w….w…what?"

"I predict that you will ravish me beyond your wildest dreams in less than three minutes time." And Trelawney threw off her cloak, revealing a stick insect dressed in a silver PVC bra and pants set, adorned with lurid pink and blue flashing sequins.

It had been brilliant. Trelawney proved herself to astonishingly flexible, and was well inside Lockhart's preferred age boundary. At first he had been uncomfortably aware that everything had been rather _loud_, but when he remembered that he could easily blame everything on Peeves in the morning, he had let his lust run wild and free. When both had been entirely satisfied (not until quite late in the early morning) Sybil had slipped off with promises to consult her ball to see if anything like this should happen again.

So grinning his familiar Cheshire-Cat grin, Lockhart shook his head slightly in a dazed manner, and continued with his inane whistling. _Sybil Trelawney_… who could have thought it?

No seriously. Who _could_ have thought it? He hadn't known she even freaking existed twelve hours ago. What happened to the culture of shaking hands first?

Professor Trelawney.

Sybil Trelawney.

Oh, _Sybil_.

Oooooooooohhhhhhhhh… _Snape. _

NOOOOOOOOOO! Lockhart smacked himself around the head with the nearest blunt object, e.g. his desk. _Snape?? _Where the hell did _that_ come from? Snape? Professor Snape? He was horrible! Ugly, rude, pale, sarcastic… dominant…

The desk didn't seem to be heavy enough, so Lockhart violently threw himself against a wall so hard he fell instantly into a concussion. For God's sake, Snape had killed him only a week ago! Had made him kill Dumbledore! Sybil… Sybil was perfect. Sybil was the one he wanted, and the one he had.

So it was a shame he didn't feel as excited when Trelawney paid him another late visit that next night, eyes huge and shiny with a sick excitement.

"Professor! I glanced into my crystal ball and guess what I saw! I saw… I saw…."

"Yeah yeah, you saw you and me between the sheets. Shut up and get into bed."

Sybil slipped in next to Lockhart, but there was no movement. An awkward silence hung between both for what seemed like hours, though it could have only been a few minutes. Lockhart stared up at the ceiling, resenting the space she was taking up, and resisting the urge to push her out onto the floor. And maybe shove a pillow over her face. Although, God knows, the bitch would probably see it coming.

"_I see… I see…"_

"_What?"_

"_You're thinking murderous thoughts my dear. In alignment with the anger of planet Saturn, you will smother your beloved with a pillow from your chamber."_

"_Damn right, Bitch Tits… wanna make it sooner rather than later?"_

Oh yes. Sweet thoughts, but sadly unrealistic. What would he do with the body? Since Dumbledore, Lockhart had rather lost his taste for the human flesh.

"Can you move up a bit?"

Trelawney shifted slightly. "I... believe I may have read my crystal ball wrongly. For when I gazed into it's depths I clearly saw…"

"Uh huh. Will you stop hogging the duvet?"

Trelawney budged over a gave a sigh. This wasn't what she had imagined at all. Truth was, she hadn't looked into her crystal ball at all. She had passed Lockhart in the corridor and thought he was hot, end of. Last night had been _fabulous._ But tonight…

"Sybil?" Lockhart's voice rang through the silence, voice troubled. Although Trelawney didn't really want to answer; a suitable punishment for the way he had treated her, the torment in his voice was too much for her miserable soul not to latch on to. Careful not to betray her excitement, she answered in her usual wail.

"What is troubling you my dear?"

"Would you… would you consider dying your hair black?"

"What… what an odd question!" Whatever she had been expecting… the suicidal tendencies of a tortured soul being preferable… she hadn't expected _that_. "Why?"

"Um… no matter." Lockhart shifted over. "Night, then."

"Good night, my dear."

…

…

…

…

…

"_Will you STOP putting your feet on MY SIDE???? Great Scott!"_

**AN: Haha this chapter will be continuing… and it will get better. I wanted to do so much more, but the word count was mounting up. I hope you liked it, and if you did please review!!!**


	4. Robes and Rancour

It was another fine day at Hogwarts. The sun was shining, the sky was blue… and Gilderoy Lockhart sat slumped at the breakfast table, eyes covered with a large pair of sunglasses in order to hide their bags. Forget grinning, Lockhart hadn't so much as smiled in what seemed like years (it was in fact only a couple of days). The other professors of course were taking full advantage of the situation, their own dark shades absent as eyesight seemed no longer threatened with Lockhart's disgustingly glittering grin. For miles around, wise men (three in particular) had stopped following what they thought was the gleam of a holy star, and began to realise that they were in fact lost, with few provisions and an irrational urge for homicide. Never mind gold, frankincense and myrrh, it was choke-hold, overly frank speaking, and murder all the way. You may be wondering why the three wise men were following the shimmer of Lockhart's teeth in the first place. After all, _everybody_ knows such legend happened many years ago, if at all.

It's my story, and if you don't like it, you can stop reading. Of course I'd prefer it if you didn't. It took a lot of work to sound this ignorant.

Face buried into his finely manicured hands, Lockhart gave the ghost of a groan, his un-freshened breath sneaking from the corner of his mouth and promptly choking a Hufflepuff third year into permanent paralysis. The victim's friend, who had also been strolling innocently by, appeared ready to object to his companion's definite turn in health but- catching sight of his Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher's yellow gnashers complete with half inch-thick fur- seemed to think better of it. He scuttled on by, sincerely hoping that his mate would not be trampled upon by impatient second years desperate for their morning bacon. Life hadn't been too kind for our hero (may I mention that I do use such word lightly) as of late. His relationship hadn't been going to well with Sybil recently as she had refused to dye her hair black or even deep brown, and appeared to think it bizarre when Lockhart asked her to speak in a slow, deep voice that sounded like a larynx drowning in a puddle of dark, melted chocolate. It was at times like these when Lockhart began to wonder if his relationship with Sybil wasn't, well… merely sexual. Bitterly, he cast his mind back to the night before, and the conversation that had ensued.

"_Sybil…May I ask you a question?" _

"_Of course, my dear. Ask away." At this point Trelawney was in the splits position, completely naked save for a skimpy silver thong. Gilderoy remembered thinking that this wasn't particularly fair. He was trying to have a serious conversation dammit! Why did she have to be so… so… distracting? _

"_Sybil… what do you like?" _

_She caught his eye then, face flushed and bottle glasses glinting with a promiscuous passion in the half-light. "Why are you asking me such things, Gilderoy? Do you mean…?" _

"_Yes." Lockhart reached over and cupped her face. "I want to take this relationship to the next level." _

_Squealing with excitement, or as much as any miserable animal-of-the-farmyard-variety could muster, Trelawney leapt up and wrapped her legs around Lockhart's waist. "I've waited for this! I should have known… my crystal ball said that it would happen tonight!"_

Gilderoy attempted to smile, then realised he really couldn't be bothered. "Go on, tell me. Tell me everything you like."

"_I…I" Sybil's spectacles were becoming steamed up in excitement, which Lockhart thought was perhaps a _tad_ inappropriate for such a straightforward question. "I LOVE the Kama Sutra!" The bombshell burst forth, shattering the glass of several of Lockhart's (favourite) colour portraits. "It's better than any spell book. That, my dear is better than the most powerful magic in the world! The positions I've learned. The…" Her eyes darkened with lust. "The erotica-exotica…" _

"_But.. But…" _

"_I mean military is perfectly fine, of course it is. But that little book has taken me around galaxies. It has made me see the stars!" _

"_But…" _

"_No buts Gilderoy, you promised! Take this!" She thrust a slim, and extremely worn volume into his unsuspecting hands. "I'll come back tomorrow, and when I do…" She gave a ghastly grin, dreadlocks barely covering her chest. "I'll expect a VERY naughty boy." _

_By then it seemed far too late to explain he couldn't really read... _

One thing was certain: Lockhart had _had it_ with Sybil Trelawney. There was of course a time when he had wished for nothing more than steamy nights of passion with the Great Unknown, to explore his fields, to become joined with nature. Now, he reflected as his face sagged into his breakfast of Lo-Cal porridge with almond, Sybil wasn't unknown at all. He knew every inch of her _inside and out. _For someone who chained themselves in a tower morning noon and half the night, Sybil had to be one of the _least_ enigmatic, hell even _charismatic_ women he had the severe misfortune to come across. Had she looked into her crystal ball and seen his never-ending misery? Lockhart, and surprisingly profound this was, doubted that Sybil had ever looked into her crystal ball and seen the reflection of the light fittings above. One thing seemed certain: Lockhart had had it up to his perfectly toned, if slightly effeminate, torso with casual sex. He wanted something _more_. He wanted… no, no… he _needed_ a tall, dark stranger to whisk him off to paradise. Someone who would… he glanced upwards and caught a sudden flash of liquorice hair and hooked beaky nose.

"AAAARRRRRGGGGHHH!" With a terrible scream, Lockhart jumped to his feet, upending the Professor's breakfast table. Various food items flashed through the morning sun, splattering the walls, other students, the owls that had arrived to deliver the mail, and of course Lockhart himself. Staring downwards in horror, Lockhart noticed the his Lo-Cal porridge, almonds and all, had- with the viciousness of an _extremely mean_ tidal wave- liberally covered his _favourite rose pink robes. _

"AAAAARRRRRRGGGGGHHHH!" These robes didn't understand the meaning of machine wash! Even if used with the most loving of non-biological washing powder and the water carefully measured to _exactly_ forty degrees, the colours still ran with the joy of a troubled leprechaun making his merry escape! This robes needed to be dry-cleaned! Lockhart had never attempted to make a dry-cleaning potion in his life!

"_Dear Robes, I beg you… please, please do not run your beautiful dye into my MCMAGIC-WASH machine. You still have so much to give!" _

"_Machine wash, my dear Sir? Pray, I do not understand. Perhaps you could assist with a charade?" _

The only people who was _capable_ of making a dry-cleaning potion to such a degree that it removed dry porridge, not forgetting the almond, were either Dumbledore… away, unfortunately… or…

_Snape. _

"ARRRRRGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!" Sunglasses falling from his face and revealing sleep bruises large enough to carry all of Lockhart's beauty products twice over, the professor ran from the Great Hall; much to the delight of the other students- some still with butter shampooing their hair.

"Do you think he'll have _another_ break down?"

"I don't know… but if we play our cards right, perhaps Snape will kill him again!"

"Wicked! Lessons will be cancelled for at least an afternoon!"

Gasping for breath, Lockhart slammed the door of his office behind him, not even having the strength to check if his door-slamming had made any of his numerous photographs crooked. This was dreadful! Terrible! Was that… that_ man_ to haunt him forever with his devilishly sexy manner? Was there no way of avoiding him in the corridors, the halls or, even better, the rest of his born life? This whole debacle was catastrophic! He… he needed to talk to someone… but who?

There had been rumours of course. They were _always_ going around together, and none so far had shown any interest in the girl. Rumour had it, when particularly cold they shared the blankets of their beds. The mother of one of them had pretty much adopted the other, calling him her son. Teachers, when the rumours passed by them, chose to shrug them off as foolish nonsense. For the first time, Lockhart began to wonder if there was any truth in the matter. Besides, _he _was special. _He_, like Lockhart himself, was _famous. He'd_ understand, if true- and Lockhart was sure that it was- the sheer _agony_ that his poor professor was suffering every day.

Yes, he needed to talk to Harry Potter.

222

Harry Potter was in Herbology when the nightmare began. The class were still discussing with much merriment Lockhart's little breakdown, and Harry was certainly having his three-thousand pounds worth. He was part the way through doing a rather accurate impression of one of Lockhart's more girly squeals, when the man appeared himself.

_He's screaming. Camp. Check-mate. _

"Ah, Harry… I was wondering if I could have a quick word?"

Harry looked incredulously at the pathetic excuse for a man before him. "I'm in a lesson, Professor."

"Why," Lockhart gave one of his dazzling smiles- he had since brushed his teeth- and the entire class winced and fainted simultaneously. "I'm sure Professor Sprout won't mind for two minutes, my boy."

Judging by the scowl on Professor Sprout's face, she did mind very much so, but she waved them outside with an irritable twitch of her hand. "Two minutes."

Feeling as if he was going to have a sudden unexplained epileptic fit or worse, Harry stared at the golden apparition in front of him. Lockhart smiled wanly at the boy's _obvious_ desire, and shook his head. "Harry, Harry, Harry."

Harry stood stock still, still too unsure of himself to answer. What did he want? Why…_why _was this man dancing in every shadow of his footsteps, leaping out from behind corners, and once, Harry shut his eyes with the horror of it all, actually waiting in the Gryffindor common-room for him to return? Curse the Fat Lady and her fancy. He'd never trust her again.

"_Harry, Harry, Harry," _Lockhart was still shaking his head smiling, as if playing an extremely annoying record that had no end. Harry caught sight of Hermione and Ron shooting him sympathetic glances from inside Greenhouse Three. Ha. It was fine for _them_. They didn't have some psychotic stalker following their every turn, knowing when they ate, worked, slept and shat. Oh yeah… it was fine for _them_ all right.

"_Harry, Harry, Harry." _

"WHAAAAAT?... Professor?" Quickly, he swallowed his burst of annoyance. It wouldn't do to upset the man… Harry doubted if he'd turn violent, but perhaps his sheer stupidity was catching. "Professor… my class…."

"It's alright, my boy. I _know._ At twelve years old I must say… it's a little _unorthodox_, but if that's the path you choose then it's fine, it's fine. I was just wondering if you could help me out, perhaps?"

Had Colin said something? Had, and there was more motive to suspect this, had _Malfoy_ said something? He was probably somewhere right now, laughing himself sick with Crabbe and Goyle. Harry mentally wished as hard as he could that Malfoy truly _was_ laughing himself sick… a brief spell in the hospital wing may do the world some good. "Know what, Professor?"

"Ah, Harry, don't pretend you don't know! I've come to you for a little advice. I myself may be attracted to another of the er… _other_ persuasion, and wondered if you could tell me what to do about it."

"I don't know what you mean, Sir."

"Harry, Great Scott, there's nothing wrong with it! By that I mean, there's nothing wrong with being…" Lockhart almost gagged on the word as it fell from his mouth. "… Homosexual."

Harry blinked, the epileptic fit-feeling suddenly much worse. "I'm sorry?"

"We've all been there my boy- perhaps I am merely a late developer! Yes, I, Gilderoy Lockhart, the five times winner of the _Witch Weekly Most Charming Smile Award!_ You're only a second year? Bad luck. I hear there are some _fabulous_ clubs in the back end of Hogsmeade. Perhaps you and your er… _friend_," He shot the now gaping Ron a cursory glance, "can visit one of the quieter ones next year. But don't tell them who sent you! People may start to _talk_ dear boy!" Lockhart gave what he fondly imagined to be a devilish wink.

The world was now lurching violently, and Harry grabbed onto the nearest stable object… unfortunately the front of Lockhart's fresh periwinkle robes. "You've made a mistake! I'm only twelve years old!"

Lockhart stared down at Harry's small, deathly pale hands and grinned even wider. "Harry, Harry, _Harry…_ I know I've given you a lot, but I can't give _myself_ to you! It would be so _wrong. _You're frightfully underage!" He clasped the shaking student into a bear hug, still nattering away manically into his ear. "Give it a couple of years my boy… Good things come to those who wait! It won't be me… your infatuation will have faded by then… but someone special, someone you can make your _own!" _

With a sickened cry, Harry lost all grip and fell to his knees. Blinking at the boy's deterioration, Lockhart grabbed the little left of his senses, and stepped back. He had probably been a bit too full-on. The boy was twelve, and with all those hormones rushing around, he could make this into something bigger than what it was. "I see my rejection has upset you." Bending down, he pulled the boy to his feet. "Don't dwell on me… concentrate on your work and Mr Weasley. Perhaps the two of you are destined for _great things." _

Harry watched ashened mouthed, as Lockhart coaxed him gently through the door of Greenhouse Three. "If you want to talk, you know where I am. Oh, and one more thing Harry… could you perhaps ask Miss Granger to make me a dry-cleaning potion? She is, after all, extremely talented." He gave another hearty wink, and still troubled, went on his way. The boy was no help after all, and seemed to have developed a little _thing_ for yours truly. Oh dear, was his great fandom never to stop growing? Was the Gilderoy Lockhart charm destined to enchant every being of the planet, young and old?

Harry couldn't concentrate for the rest of his Herbology lesson, and received three out of ten for effort. When Ron asked him later if anything was wrong, Harry gave him one of the most startled and guilty of glances, then decided to keep his mouth firmly shut.

_**I updated! Many of you will have probably forgotten this story by now, but I decided to update and that's the main thing. Any new readers… Hello! I hope this isn't, in the words of Lockhart too "full-on". I had fun writing it, and I hope you enjoy. Bye now! **_

_**JQ. **_


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